


Training Measures

by Ephermeralk



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Facials, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-25
Updated: 2014-03-25
Packaged: 2018-01-16 23:24:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1365568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ephermeralk/pseuds/Ephermeralk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jared’s a Navy SEAL recruit participating in the two month training course in underwater demolition. Jensen is Jared’s Commander who’s less than impressed with Jared’s performance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Training Measures

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Masturbation, facial, completely inaccurate representation of Navy SEALs and their training techniques  
> Disclaimer: I own only, and all of my errors.
> 
> A/N: Written for my girl, [](http://meesasometimes.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://meesasometimes.livejournal.com/)**meesasometimes** , who I’ve owed fic to since January. I hope this comes somewhat close to what you wanted, sweetie ♥

Sand. Scratching in between his toes. His fingers. Scraping the hair off his cold, shivering thighs.

Sand fucking sucks.

He tries not to notice as each grain of weathered down rock digs into the creases of his knee caps. Bleeding. His legs must be drenched in a warm red color by now as he hauls himself up the beach, dripping water, seaweed, and blood. Coloring the beach red and green. He grits sand through his teeth, and tries to think about anything other than the fact that it’s December.

On the positive side, at least the presence of an open wound means that Commander Ackles can’t tie him up and throw him back out into the continental shelf of the Pacific Ocean. Twice has been one time too many for him today.

The hint of a smirk had played across Commander Ackles’ face as he’d pressed Jared’s arms together behind his back. He’d tied the rope tightly, his hands running over Jared’s wet arms. His shoulders. Down the spine of his vertebral column. Making him shiver from more than just the cold. Commander Ackles had licked his salmon-colored pink lips before he’d pushed Jared overboard, reassuring him that he had a waterproof GPS located in his fins. _Don’t lose the fins,_ he’d said. Jared knows they’re worth almost as much money as he is.

A piece of seaweed flaps down across his face, caught between his ear and the buzz cut that he’s sported since he made the cut into SEAL boot camp back in July. Fucking disgusting, he thinks as he tries to dislodge the stray piece of kelp. He stops crawling for a moment, and his body almost collapses. The muscles in his calves are sore from kicking pitifully against the current. His lungs literally burn from inhaling salt water; they ache from oxygen deprivation.

“Clock hasn’t stopped running yet, Padalecki,” the commander says, in a bored tone of voice. “And you’re already ten seconds behind your fastest time.”

“Hooya,” he coughs out, bringing some of the ocean back with him. It’s the war cry of the Navy SEALs. It also means _yes_ and _understood_. And Jared definitely understands. He understands that he needs to be better, faster, and stronger, if he’s going to make it through his two month basic underwater demolition course. He’s worked his whole life for this opportunity. And now he’s been paired with the top navy SEAL in the country—the infamous Chief Warfare Special Operator, Jensen Ackles.

Sand gets underneath his nails, pushing into the soft flesh underneath, as he digs his fingers into the wet land. Trying to move faster. He needs to get to where Jensen waits patiently, and dryly at the top of a small sand dune. The bastard’s even got his shirt off, because the California coast is fairly mild today. And the breeze probably feels nice on his skin. It bites at Jared’s, which has been doused in water less than half of his body temperature.

“I’d consider getting up off your knees and running, if you want to make the cut today, Padalecki. Of course, it’s up to you. You do look exceptional on your knees, if you catch my drift.”

A low growl emanates in the bottom of Jared’s throat, because he’s pretty sure that Commander Ackles would look better on his knees sucking Jared’s cock, but that’s not likely to happen any time soon. Or, honestly, ever. Ackles looks like a fucking movie star, and Jared—well Jared’s tall and gangly and twenty. He can only dream of fucking men like his commander. Which he does. Often.

Unfortunately, his growl brings up more water from his lungs, and he starts coughing again, to which, the sound of laughing reaches his ears.

“You are aware that you’re supposed to _hold_ your breath when you’re underwater, right?” Ackles taunts him condescendingly.

Jared wants to tell his Commander to fuck off and that he should try holding his breath while he’s got his hands tied, but he knows that Ackles can do it. Has done it. Jared’s witnessed it with his own eyes in their training pool back at the SEAL base. It takes the commander three minutes and ten seconds to get free of his bondage and out of the water. For Jared, it takes nearly five.

He never manages to make it up on to his feet, but he does succeed in scaling the sand dune. He sits back on his heels, nude colored swim trunks plastered to his legs. He can feel every drop of water as it rolls off his skin. Slow, sarcastic clapping vibrates through his water-logged ears.

“Padalecki, are you aware that you’re completely inept at the _underwater_ portion of the underwater demolition course?” he asks.

“Yes, sir,” Jared responds, because any other word choice is likely to cause him pain.

Jared looks straight ahead, which puts him directly at the commander’s crotch level. A slight bulge sticks out to the right, and Jared wonders if Jensen’s turned on, or if he’s naturally that large. Jared can’t decide which one he’d prefer.

A finger runs down his jaw line, and Jared struggles to keep his eyes locked forward. He’d like to look up—at Jensen’s tanned, shirtless body, at his jade colored eyes—but instead, he waits patiently for an order.

Ackles’ crotch disappears from his sight, and it’s only by the faint clinking of dog tags on a chain that Jared knows where he is, as the commander circles him. _Like a shark_ , Jared thinks. And he’s about to be eaten.

“I’ve been hearing complaints about the pipes being backed up in the showers since you arrived. Know anything about that, Padalecki?”

He doesn’t speak. Jared doesn’t know where exactly they want him to jerk off if it’s not in the showers. Surely Ackles doesn’t expect him to masturbate in the bunk with all of the other recruits. Jared’s got a sense of dignity.

“When I ask you a question, Padalecki, I expect you to answer. Now, have you been clogging our drains with your spunk or not. A simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ will do.”

He hears the ratting of dog tags directly above him.

“Yes,” he says softly. Jared can feel heat lighting a path up his skin, trailing red everywhere it touches. His chest. His throat. His cheeks. He’d rather be at the bottom of the ocean.

“Hm, well at least you’re not a liar,” the commander states, making Jared turn almost purple with shame at the implication.

“I think it’s time I teach you how my squadron takes care of itself. Now, after every mission, we choose partners. For example, since it’s only the two of us out here today: I choose you.”

Jared sees long, nimble fingers come into his view. They pop the button on the commander’s pants. Pull down the zipper. Ackles is devoid of clothing underneath, and Jared’s left with the view of a slightly larger than normal cock. When Ackles reaches down to jack it for the first time, pre-come dribbles out, and he rubs it around the head of his dick.

“Spit,” he orders Jared, holding out his palm. What Jared coughs out is probably a fifty-fifty mixture of saliva and sea water.

“Watch close, Padalecki, otherwise we’re going to need multiple lessons here. Now, after you get proper lubrication, you start working your dick hard. Fast is the key. When we’re off on a mission, we’re in dangerous situations. There isn’t any time for the foreplay you used with your cute girlfriend back at home,” he says. Ackles’ voice walks the line between education and contempt. Color Jared confused.

“I don’t have a girlfriend, sir,” he says, his warm breath making the Commander’s dick twitch towards him, seeking out his heat.

“Boyfriend, then,” Ackles corrects, taking his hand off of his cock in order to roll his balls. He reaches back, rubbing his fingers against his sensitive skin right behind his sack. He huffs little grunts of pleasure, and Jared wishes that he could watch Ackles. See if he’s got his eyes closed, or if he’s looking at Jared. And then Jared notices that Ackles genitals are dotted with freckles.

He stalls a laugh in the nick of time, but a muted grunt winds up escaping from his lips.

“Is there something funny?” Ackles asks. He hasn’t slowly down his rhythm or stopped running his thumb around the circumference of the top of his dick.

“No, sir,” Jared says. He’s started to get hard in his swim trunks now, his dick pushing against the thick, wet fabric.

Fingers skating over the outline of his dick, he slowly moves to put his hand inside of the Navy issued trunks, until Ackles voice calls out harshly, “Padalecki, did I say you could touch?”

“No, sir.” With his eyes straight ahead, he feels like he’s talking directly to the Commander’s penis.

“That’s what I thought. You don’t touch until I tell you.”

Jared moves his hand back down to his side, clutching the cold fabric of his trunks to ground him.  
He watches as Ackles’ dick gets thicker the longer he rubs it. The vein on the underside rolls with every movement of the commander’s thumb. It compresses back into to the flesh of his dick, and then returns, each time more pronounced, to the surface. Pre-come oozes out now, making Ackles’ dick practically shine in the California sun. Jared’s tongue flicks out like a snake’s; if he tries hard enough he can almost taste the scent of his commander’s arousal.

“Jared,” his commander says, using his name for the first time. “Look at me.”

Up. Past the almost purple-freckled dick that he wants to lick. Past Jensen’s auburn treasure trail, the slight bit of extra flesh over hard muscle, and dusk-colored nipples. Jensen’s chin juts out, and he’s biting into the side of his lip. He’s hardly looking at Jared, his eyes hooded with near ecstasy.

The man can swim five hundred meters of breast stroke in under nine minutes. He can do 120 push-ups in two minutes, ten pull-ups in a minute, and run a mile and a half in 8:00 even. Now, with his pants down, and spit-shined cock pointing directly at Jared’s face, he’s never looked so human.

“Okay, Jared. You can touch yourself now. But you’ve got to come before I’m done. Otherwise you’re dropping and giving me sixty push-ups, and two-hundred sits ups. Got it?”

“Hooya,” Jared responds, as he dives his hand down his swim trunks. He imagines tackling Jensen to the ground, and shoving his dick into Jensen’s perfect, smooth mouth. Jensen could take his dick, he bets. If the man can hold his breath for more than four minutes underwater, he can definitely deep throat Jared.

Jared thinks about folding Jensen—his commander in half, of licking what he’s sure is a perfectly pink hole until Jensen opens up for him, begging for his dick.

“Uh-huh,” Jensen says, “Eyes on me, Jared.”

His eyes open up then, looking directly into Jensen’s. And he doesn’t see sarcasm, or contempt. He sees pure lust… and just the slightest hint of maybe something more. It makes him even harder knowing that he’s the one who put that look on Jensen’s face.

He strives to work his hand around his dick at the same speed as Jensen. Fingers that aren’t his own grip his shoulder, and before he knows it, Jensen’s started to come. Streams of warm, sticky fluid hit his cheeks, his eyes, and his mouth.

Jared strips his cock even harder, thinking about being balls deep inside of Jensen, telling him for once that _he_ has to wait to come until Jared’s done. The thought of Jensen squirming around on his dick while Jensen’s goes untouched is enough to make Jared shoot his load inside of his already wet swim trunks.

He hasn’t taken his eyes off Jensen, but he can’t avoid looking when Jensen brings his cock closer to Jared’s face.

“Care to help with the cleanup?” he asks. “Otherwise you’re free to leave, Jared.”

Jared shakes his head, spraying water everywhere. “I’ll stay, sir.”

Dipping his cock into his own cooling come, Jensen gathers it in clumps and feeds it into Jared’s mouth. He’s almost soft by the time he’s cleared all of his semen off Jared’s face. Still shiny though, Jared notes.

Once he’s done, he extends a hand out to Jared, and helps pull him to his feet.

“So, Commander Ackles. If we’re partners, for this post-mission situation… thing… is there any chance that I’ll get to be the one standing next time?”

Ackles laughs as he tucks his dick back into his pants, dog tags sounding against each other as he leans over to put his shirt back on.

“I’ll make a deal with you, Jared. You get your time in the underwater portion to under four minutes and thirty seconds, and then I’ll let you choose how, and where you come.”

“On you, sir?” he asks, making sure he’s hearing his Commander correctly.

“If that’s what you want. I often prefer coming _inside_ someone, but we all have our own kinks.”

Jared blushes then, imagining pushing Jensen down into the hard beach.

“Deal,” he agrees.

“Want a ride back to the base, Jared?” Jensen asks him politely.

Before he would have taken it in a second. Looked forward to getting the sand off his body under the warm spray of the shower.

“Nah,” he says, starting to jog. “I’ve got to ramp up my training, sir.”

“Atta boy,” Ackles says to him, making a swipe at his ass, as he passes by on the way to his truck.

Jared runs harder, faster, stronger. He’s never been so excited to be tied up and thrown into the ocean in his life. Well, that, and the possibility of being balls deep inside Jensen at this time next week. He picks up his speed another notch, paying no attention to his over-exerted muscles that scream at him from underneath his skin. He keeps on running.

Confidence. Determination. Skill. In the sea, in the air, or on land. Jared’s never been so sure that he has what it takes to be a SEAL.


End file.
